Too Late For Regret: The Biker Queen

I was the Old Lady of the Iron Cross Motorcycle Club, secretly pregnant with the President's child.

But before I could tell him, Bennet brought a bar girl into our clubhouse and announced she was taking my place.

When she found my positive pregnancy test, she cornered me in the garage and shoved me hard into a steel engine stand.

A sharp crack echoed through my spine, and a pool of dark blood quickly spread across the concrete beneath me.

When Bennet rushed downstairs, my lead mechanic screamed at him to call an ambulance for his unborn child.

But the bar girl clung to his arm, crying fake tears.

"She's lying, Bennet! It's fake blood! She's doing this to ruin your party!"

To save his pride in front of the rival clubs drinking upstairs, Bennet looked at me with disgust.

"Nobody calls outside doctors into my clubhouse. Lock the doors."

He ordered his men to bolt the heavy steel garage doors from the outside, leaving me to bleed out in the dark.

Lying on the cold floor, feeling the life drain from my womb, my heart turned to absolute ice.

How could the man I spent years building an empire for let our baby die just to protect his fragile ego?

But I didn't die that night.

I survived, and I quietly packed up every custom bike, engine patent, and dollar I had built for his club.

It was time to show the President what happens when you cross the woman who holds the keys to your entire empire.